The Beginning of the End
by gpfs17
Summary: Luciana Farrington grew up at a young age. At 10 her father died and her mother followed not even a year later. Nate, her younger brother, is left in her care. She learned early on never to trust anything involving the Capitol, and keeps that with her now,at16. She avoids the Games at all costs. But when someone she's indebted to is drawn for the Games, what will she do? (Peeta/OC)
1. Chapter 1

The two men in front of me shake hands. I sigh, and find myself cursing the idiocy of the shorter, slightly fatter man. He thinks he has a good deal, but what he isn't aware of is that the first man- tall, skinny, a newfound gleam of triumph and hunger in his eyes- has just managed to con him out of enough food to last a month. What for? A measly sack of grain, barely enough for a week.

As the conman takes his prize, he eagerly sifts through the burlap sack, more than likely checking to make sure all the food is there. I feel my mouth watering at the large sacks, my stomach rumbling in anticipation. It has been a week since my last halfway decent meal, and that consisted of a small bowl of soup. My brother, barely twelve, got the bigger bowl. He needed it more than I did.

The second man, smiles after the retreating form of the first. With a chubby hand, he reaches under the dirty countertop and pulls out an even bigger bag. He didn't have to open it for me to know that it was flour.

The tiny amount of coins in my pocket feel heavier. We were running low on flour, and I could only pray that there was enough of them for me to afford the sack.

"Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you would come, Ms. Farrington." The vender says when I approach. I scowl at him, and his grin widens.

"Shut it Damien," I growl, sitting down on the rickety stool in front of him. His grin only frustrates me further.

"Not very nice language there, miss." He smiles, leaning against the counter with his elbows, too close for my liking. I lean back, just enough for him to get the message. He slides back a bit, but not much. It's the best I'll get.

"Risky move there with him," I comment, eyeing him closely.

The smile grows on his face into an ear-splitting grin. "Stale."

I feel myself laugh slightly. For Damien - a man with such little skill in fighting that a five year old could beat him - to give the man useless food is a dangerous move that most can't get away with. But somehow, Damien always sneaks away unharmed.

Throughout the black market, Damien was well known. Quick to scam and extremely sly, he wasn't one to mess with when it came to trading. He was stubborn, and knew just how to force someone out of everything they owned. I never fell for his tricks, having known him from a young age. He's long since tried to con me out of anything, and now he's always my first stop when I come into town.

"One of these days," I begin, but the sentence slips away as an empty threat. My laugh dies along with it, and I slide out the money from the worn fabric of my pocket placing it just in front of his elbows. His thick face lights up in greed. His head lifts from his hands, a greasy hand moving to grab the coins, and I yank them back quickly, out of his reach. "Uh, uh," I say, and gesture to the bag of flour just to his right. "How much?"

His eyes slip over to the sack, then back to me. I shake my head, and he frowns. I was not having any funny business. Especially today. "Five coins, at least."

My lips shrug into a frown. That was all I had, and it took me months to gather just that. But, if I didn't take the offer, who knows when I would have the opportunity at such a large quantity of flour? As if sensing my acceptance, Damien holds out a hand for the money. I hand them over, albeit reluctantly, and he pushes the sack my way. I nod, and take it up in my arms. It's just as I am turning, when he nods back.

"Good luck," he murmurs after a few seconds. I pause, mid-step, and nod once more. Then I am off.

Typically on a day like this, most merchants would be closed, but the Hob remains bustling with activity. It is here where I sell most of the things I gather, and receive the rations that have kept my brother and I alive for the past six years.

Hunting has always been an option, but ever since I brought home the first rabbit I hunted, my brother had forced me not to kill what he called "defenseless animals" even if we were inches from death. For some reason I still listen to him, even though I'm now sixteen and he's twelve. The only thing left was to gather to local herbs, plants, berries, anything I could get my hands on, I gathered and sold.

When I finally reach the small, bony woman called Greasy Sae, who sells soup, she smiles. She easily takes my remaining herbs and settles a bowl of soup in front of me. "Eat," she orders, spotting my open mouth, ready to refuse the offer.

Merchants in the Hob always seemed to be nicer on the particular day, though I've no idea why. If they offer a teen food, then that same kid gets reaped into the Games, then they've wasted their supplies. People from this district never survive the Games.

I slowly spoon the mixture into my mouth and let it sit there. It isn't the best, but it's food, and food is taken at every opportunity. Greasy Sae fixes her eyes onto me, and she asks, "Nervous?"

She doesn't have to explain for me to know what she means. Today is the reaping, today two more from our district will be send into the Capitol's sick Games. I shrug, but the truth is, I have no reason to be. My brother's name is only entered once, so the chances of him getting picked are slim. Slim, but not impossible.

The only thing I'd need to worry about was my name getting drawn from the traditional glass bowls. If I were picked, there'd be no one to care for my brother. He'd die, just like my parents, and I'd be left alone.

The odds aren't exactly in my favor, though. Ever since I was old enough, I'd been signed up for tesserae. My name would be entered each year three times; the required, then one for both my brother and I. Add four years to it, and my name now shows up in the bowl fifteen times. It could be worse, but it's still not a good amount to have.

Greasy Sae remains silent. Halfway through the bowl I stop, then ask if I could possibly take the bowl home to my brother. She nods and gives me a rag to keep it warm.

I arrive home to find my brother struggling to fasten a pair of suspenders to his dress pants. His hands are shaking so badly that every time he goes to clip them on, he misses completely. I feel myself smile in the smallest of ways, suddenly reminded of my own first reaping. My hands had been shaking, too, and he had to help me get ready. It was time for me to return the favor.

"Here," I say, and fasten the clothing for him.

My brother, named Nathaniel after our grandfather, our father's father, looks older than his age in this moment. His eyes are dark with worry, and I know it's not for himself. His name was only entered once, as I'd refused when he said he'd wanted to sign up for tesserae like me. Like I was of him, he was protective of me, as I was his only remaining relative.

He'd never known our father, but Nate and our father looked extremely similar. Same dark curly hair, striking grey eyes, even the dimple on his left cheek was like dad's.

People told me my mother was beautiful, and that I looked like her in so many ways. Truthfully, I have never seen it. My mother had short, shiny dark hair, a slim oval shaped face, and features most women would envy.

My mother and I both have hazel eyes, which was impossible in District 12. But my mother wasn't from District 12, not directly, at least. Her mother's grandparents, my Great-Grandparents, moved here from a district that I can't recall, when times were troubled in their home. What made them choose this dump, I'll never know. The entire family on my mother's side had hazel eyes, except my brother. He inherited dad's.

I always got strange looks because of my eyes color when I was younger, but now I'm paid no mind. When I was younger, I'd always wanted to look the same as everyone else, to fit in. Now that our mom's gone, I'm glad I don't.

Nate's lips tug up slightly. "Thanks."

I smile, a real, genuine smile that only Nate sees. It's enough to get him smiling fully. "I brought you some soup. It's on the table." He goes to eat, and I leave the room to bathe.

I typically don't make a big effort when it comes to things like this, but today I scrub off the layers of dirt and grime from my skin as well as my hair. I put on the only dress I own, which is a pale yellow color. When I exit the room, my hair is in a French braid that leads into a bun at the nape of my neck.

Nate is done with the soup when I find him. "You look pretty," he compliments, and I shrug.

"It feels weird," I say, and he laughs. Off in the distance, a bell rings, signaling that it's time to go to the Square. Nate's eyes are suddenly on me, his arms around me in a panicked way, and he's begging, begging for us not to go.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders tightly and kiss the top of his head. "Nate, you know we have to. We'll be alright, we'll come back tonight and everything will be exactly like it is now," I say, and his arms loosen. I press another kiss to his hairline. "We've got to go, though." He nods, face buried in my shirt, and finally lets go. We leave in silence.

The Square, usually a festive place, is grim. Peacekeepers lay around every corner, watching with cold eyes for anyone acting out of place. Family members, too old for the reaping, stand in their area around the perimeter, watch their children as they sign in and wait for the ceremony to begin.

I wish that I had a parent that was waiting for me, waiting until after the reaping is over to take me home, to care for and watch over me like everyone else here does. But I don't.

Nate and I are one of the last ones to arrive, and we usually are. I take an open space by a patch of merchant's daughters. The Mayor has already began the everlasting story of the history of Panem, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort that can easily be spotted as from the Capitol, steps up to the podium after he finishes. In her annoyingly bright voice, she chirps, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair looks strangely crooked, as does the green suit she's wearing. I wonder what happened before we came.

And then the drawing is starting. "Ladies first!" Effie says, and plunges a manicured hand deep into the bowl and plucks out a slip of paper. My heart flies into my chest and I'm praying, praying it isn't me, please don't let it be me.

And it's not.

But I'm not prepared for the name that is called.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

**...**

**Okay, so I know that this isn't exactly the most liked scenario, Peeta with an OC, but I went to see Catching Fire yesterday, and I couldn't help but wonder what the series would be like without Katniss as the lead character. I couldn't help but write it!**

**I hope you all enjoy the story, and I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes.. As well as the summary (I suck at writing them)**

**I'll only put this here in this chapter, so- **

**Anything you recognize as from any book in the series belongs to Suzanne Collins. I only own the Farrington family. **


	2. Chapter 2

I still remember many things about my parents, even after all the years that they've been dead.

My mother loved to bake, especially with another member of the family. She had a tradition that every Saturday night would be a time for nothing but baking. When I was old enough, she would pick me up, hand me a whisk, and let me do whatever I liked to the batter. Eventually, she'd gently pry the bowl from my hands, pour the batter into a pan, and place it into the oven with a swift kiss placed onto the top of my head.

Sometimes my father would slide over to me while I was stirring, dip his finger in, and with a wink, he'd silently creep up to my mother and run his finger along her cheek, leaving the batter behind on her fair skin. She'd gasp, then giggle, then mimic his actions and smear batter onto him. They'd laugh, looking at each other with such adoration even me as a toddler could spot it. Then my father, while I was giggling at my parents, would place a single drop on the end of my nose, before kissing it away.

My father was an adventurer. After my brother was born and was old enough to toddle on his short, stubby legs, he'd lead us through the gates of the district onto a new adventure. We'd wander until the sun was touching the horizon, and some days we got to stay even longer. He taught me about plants around then, which ones were safe, which were poisonous.

He also showed me how to fight with a sword.

Originally I was too weak to lift the metal blade on my own, so my father would show me the tricks until I finally became strong enough to yield it alone.

One particular day, when I was in our backyard practicing moves with my brand new (now my size) sword, my father came out with his in his hands. He smiled at me and said, "Come on, let's see what you've got."

I had grinned, and charged not even a second later. I attacked with such precision, such grace, that my father was finding it hard to keep up. "Wow," he had said after blocking one of my swings. I wasn't aiming to hurt him, of course, every swing was with the flat of the blade. "You've improved."

I laughed, then lightly shoved my father backwards, over a tree root that had emerged from the ground. He landed on his behind, and instantly was laughing.

That's when my mother ran out, her face red with oncoming tears. My father's laugh died away. "James," my mother had said, "Marsha's littlest just died."

Marsha was my mother's childhood best friend. I never knew her too well, and still don't to this day. She had three children, but none were around my age, and I never really got to know about any of them. Around that time, Marsha's littlest was just about to turn two. A year younger than Nate.

My father told me to go inside and babysit Nate, and I listened. It was about an hour until either of my parents returned, and right at the moment my mother stepped through the front door, if had attached to her leg, saying, "What's happened? Is everyone alright?"

We sat in the old rocking chair by the fire, Nate long ago out to sleep in his crib ,when I asked, "Mommy?" She turned her hazel eyes onto me. "What's your friend feel like right now?"

Apparently she wasn't expecting that question, because her eyebrows went up and she blinked a few times before answering. "Well. Honey, I don't know how she's feeling, to be honest, but I can tell you that she's not feeling the best."

My small head cocked to the side. "Is she sick?"

A small chuckle slipped past my mother's lips, and she pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "No, honey, she's not sick. She just lost her son, which I can only imagine is horrible to go through."

"What's it like to lose a brother or son?"

My mother frowned. "Well, it's almost like loosing a part of you, in a way. Nothing's quite the same. Everything you're used to doing would be different, now that the person is gone. It would feel.. Empty. Just imagine what it would be like without little Nate here with us."

I had began crying at the thought of my brother dying. My mother's arms tightened around me, hushing me, soothing me into a deep sleep.

That was twelve years ago.

I never forgot those words.

As Prim's name was called, so was that memory, and how she changed both me and my brother's life.

It was during one of our lowest times. We were running low on food, as well as water. Our mother, deathly sick with pneumonia, had died only two months prior in the cold days of December. My brother was still too young to understand exactly what had happened, but the pain of her death was almost unbearable for me. What made it worse was having to tell little Nate every night that mom wasn't coming back. He always forgot, and asked every night why I was tucking him in instead of mom.

It tore me apart.

Now on our own, me at the age of eleven and Nate at seven, I had to become the head of the family. I had to scour out means of food from then on.

Then there was the risk of being put into the community homes. I couldn't put Nate in there, he was only seven, he was so confused, going to a community home would destroy him. So when Peacekeepers arrived with the small amount of money for a guardian, I told them that our aunt was who we lived with now and that she was asleep upstairs. They handed the money to me without question.

We've been on our own ever since.

A young girl, no older than twelve, steps out into the aisle. Her eyes, filled with fear yet remaining emotionless, stay fixed on the podium, where Effie is waving for her to hurry. Her family must be devastated, but no cries of anguish are heard. No one wants to Capitol to see the power they have over us.

Right as her foot is making its way onto the first step, a strangled cry is heard. "Prim!" It's so raw, so afraid, that I instantly know it's a family member of hers. "Prim!" The voice's owner stumbles into the aisle, a girl with dark hair and grey eyes that are so familiar to me, even though I haven't seen them for a while.

The Peacekeepers surround her within seconds, but she shoves them off with a cry of, "I volunteer!" She straightens. "I volunteer as tribute."

I can see the family resemblance as Prim embraces her sister, screaming for her not to go. They may have different hair and eye colors, but their facial features are so similar it's easy to tell the fact that they're siblings. Prim doesn't release her grip, and eventually has to be dragged away from her sister by a young man, who says, "Up you go, Catnip."

I can only imagine what she feels like as she climbs those stone steps. She must be so scared, not for herself, but for her family. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be standing there in the first place.

Her mother is probably destroyed. First her youngest, but now her oldest is going into the Games, never to be seen again. I can't help but think of Marsha, and how she felt when she lost one of her children.

Prim can't be doing much better. After all, loosing a sibling is one of the worst feelings in the world. I know the feeling, as I almost lost mine.

Nate was sick. Deathly sick. For weeks, he had been pale, feverish, and could never keep a meal down for longer than an hour. I was panicked; we didn't have the money to buy medicine, and I'd already tried every herb I knew, but nothing was working.

I had brought him with me to the Hob, in hopes of someone, anyone, having something that could help him. I'd gone to six stands, and nothing.

I was in the middle of talking to the vender of the seventh stand when I heard the scream.

I had left Nate just outside the Hob's entrance, strictly telling him to stay put. But, like every eight-year-old, he couldn't sit still, no matter how sick he was. When I ran into the street, looking wildly for him, he was gone.

My feet had reacted before my brain did. Within an instant I was sprinting as hard as I could manage, eyes searching frantically for a single sign of where my brother had disappeared to.

More screams gave me the biggest clue.

A street away, a stray coal cart, about the size of a small house, was barreling down the dirt road. Three men, each in the standard coal miner's uniform, were speeding after it, shouting for people to move and get out of the way.

The cart had zoomed past me just as I turned the corner leading to that particular street. My heart had flown up into my throat, and a small scream emitted from my mouth, but nothing more. I was still searching for Nate, the aftershock of almost getting ran over could come in later.

People pushed past me, trying to get away from the cart. My eyes followed along the street, only to see something that made my heart freeze.

Nate was on his hands and knees directly in the cart's path.

I had screamed, but I didn't hear it. The weakness of not eating for four days vanished, replaced by nothing but pure adrenaline.

I sped after the cart, towards my brother. My muscles screamed, I pushed them harder.

I knew I wouldn't get there in time. The cart was too fast, too far ahead of me. I kept going.

Somehow Nate remained unaware of the thing that would be his demise. He stayed on all fours, seemingly to feeble to move.

Tears were slipping down my cheeks like a river, and I remember being so mad for it. I hated being perceived as weak, I still do. In this moment, I couldn't help but let the emotions show.

I never stopped running, even when the cart was feet away from Nate. I wasn't able to save him, but someone else was.

A small body launched themselves at my brother, shoving them both out of the cart's path right before it would've crushed them both.

Pebbles soared away from the three of us when I skidded to a stop at their side. Someone else collapses beside me, but my focus is solely on my brother. He was weak and in pain, but that didn't stop the small smile that grew on his lips.

"Careful," he had said to me. His eyes were half-closed. "There's a runaway cart going through."

I choked out a laugh through my tears and yank him into my arms. His arms are careful, timid, and slow, and I knew he was tired. Still, I had forced him to open his eyes long enough for me to say, "You do that again, and I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled. "Love you, too." Then sleep overtakes him.

The two are still there when I turn. The smaller one, who I assumed was my brother's savior, offered me a smile. She couldn't have been older than my brother. The bigger, only by height, appeared to be my age.

I blinked. My mouth had long since gone dry, and I brought a shaky hand to wipe away stray tears making their way down my red cheeks. When I spoke, my voice was rough. "Thank you. I don't even know you, and yet you saved his life. I can't... I just.. How can I.. Thanks." I bow my head, partially in gratitude, partially in embarrassment that I can't think of anything to say. This girl had just saved my brother's life, and I can't do anything but stutter?

The younger girl brushed runaway strand of blonde hair from her forehead. Her respond isn't something I expect. "He's sick, isn't he? We've got medicine at home, if you want to bring him with you?"

I'm speechless. Not only had this girl risked her life to save Nate from the coal cart, but now she's offering to give him medicine, too? The debt from this deed was only growing.

I had tried to argue, tried to assure that Nate was fine, it was just a common cold. I didn't need my debts to this mystery girl to grow any larger. The words are heavy on my tongue, as I know they aren't true. Nate needs medicine, and soon.

My face was surely unconvincing. The girl turned to her sister and pleaded, "Oh Katniss, please, can we help them?"

The older girl, Katniss, hesitated. She seemed to think along the same lines I had, but at her sister's pleading look, she softened. "I guess. Come on, before the Peacekeepers come."

They had helped me carry Nate back to their home, in the midst of the Seam. Their home actually wasn't too far from ours, a fact that relieved me.

The younger girl, who's name I had discovered was Prim, kept me company while Katniss took care of Nate. When we left, I couldn't stop thanking them both. They had waved me off, smiling widely until we were gone.

I still haven't totally paid them back for it.

It's been a while since I last talked to either of them. Sometimes I would wave to Prim if I saw her in the streets, but nothing else. She'd smile, wave a little, I'd reciprocate, and we'd go desperate ways.

I've never really had a friend, but if I did, Katniss would probably be the closest I'd consider. We spoke very little, and didn't see each other besides school, but she and I thought along the same lines, react the same ways.

We'd do anything to protect the ones we love.

It's in this moment when I realize what I must do.

Katniss is embracing Prim, telling her to find their mom, that everything will be okay. And it will.

I only hope that my brother will forgive me.

I shove my way through the girls around me. When I am out in the middle, in view of everyone in the Square, I shout, "I volunteer!" Peacekeepers have surrounded me, but I shove them off decisively.

Surprised faces greet me. I keep my face emotionless, but the look of gratitude and fright on both Katniss and Prim's face almost ruin it. I only smile the smallest smile possible, to assure them that it's okay.

My eyes stay on the ground as I walk up to the podium, where Effie's makeup-caked face is blank with shock. It's not hard to tell why. District Twelve hasn't had a volunteer in centuries, and now not only one, but two have volunteered in one reaping? It's unheard of.

"Well then," she breathes finally, latching a hand onto my arm. I am pushed in front of the microphone. "Go on, dear, what's your name?"

I keep my eyes as far away from the boys' side of the Square as possible. "Luciana Farrington." My voice sounds unattached, and it's exactly how I'm feeling.

Effie smiles at me, and I have an unexplainable urge to smack it right off. It's so unreal, so fake, that it disgusts me. "You don't seem to be related to them, are you?" I tell her no. Her grin widens. "Ah, just want to have your own crack at the Games, don't we?" This woman is making it far too easy to dislike her. "Let's give a round of applause for District Twelve's tribute!"

No one claps. The Square is so silent that I can hear the call of a bird in the distance, which I usually never can, unless I'm in the woods. Each and every eye is on me, and I've never been one for attention. I have just begun to turn away when the first person raises the left hand to their mouth, presses the three middle fingers to their lips, and extend them out to me. The rest of the crowd follows in suit.

The small gesture doesn't fail to surprise me. Something so small, so unused, but with such a strong meaning, is being raised to me. I've always thought of myself as one of the people never noticed in the district and yet, I'm proved wrong.

Tears have sprung in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I'm unaware that the boys' turn has came until Effie calls, "Peeta Mellark!"

A wave of relief slams through me like a flood. It isn't him, he's safe.

Or is he? Nate may be safe from the Games, from the Capitol, but he's still at risk to all the dangers here. He doesn't know how to hunt, nor will he. I've never took the time to teach him about the native plants. Disease is quite popular, there's all sorts of possibilities.

I suddenly want to throw up.

To take my thoughts away, I turn to my new opponent. Average height, a stocky build. Features that clearly state he is a merchant's son. He tries to keep his face apathetic, but I can see the panic held within his light blue eyes.

I've seen it far more than I'd like.

I've never spoken to Peeta personally, but his father always bought something from me when I'd visit him. Whether it was out of pity, or genuinely wanting whatever he bought, I'll never know. But there was rarely a time when I'd go to the bakery and his father wouldn't buy something.

Occasionally I'd see Peeta outside chopping wood or feeding the pigs and he'd send me a smile, but that's as far as I've ever gone to actually conversing with him.

There are no volunteers for us when Effie asks once more, and now it's too late. Too late to just run home with Nate, too late for everything.

The mayor's speech has already passed. He motions for us to shake hands, and we do. His hand is calloused, yet soft, from the years of baking. His eyes bore straight through mine, and I feel his thumb caresses the back of my hand in what I think is his way of comforting me. The corners of my mouth quirk upwards in reply.

I know I can't kill him. I can't kill anyone, and yet I have to try to win for Nate.

Something tells me that plan might not work out.

**...**

**Okay, first off, it sucks, I know. I'm sorry if the wording is confusing, but I tried my best.. **

**Thanks for reading, favoriting, following, reviewing, everything! **


	3. Chapter 3

My head has been in my hands for the past twenty minutes. The room is too bright, too fancy to what I'm used to. The pristine white walls surround me, making me feel like I'm going to drown in them.

It's supposed to be the time where family and friends come and wish me a final goodbye, but so far, no one has come for me. I'm not expecting anyone to, maybe Nate, but I can understand why he wouldn't come. I wouldn't either if he did it.

Okay, so, that's a bit of an exaggeration.

The door opens and in walks Damien. It's not who I expect, but I'm glad to see him. It's nice to see a friendly face before I go off to my death.

He holds out his arms, and I walk straight into them without question. For a few minutes we stand there, him embracing me almost like a father would. When I finally pull back, he begins telling me of the things I can do to win. I'm not listening as intently as I could, my mind is in other places. After all, what are the chances of me winning over a tribute from one of the Capitol's favorites?

He gives my shoulders a good, hard shake. "Luciana, listen to me!" The sternness of his voice surprises me, and I fix my eyes onto his face, pale with fear. "You can win this, I know you can!"

"There's twenty-four of us. What are the odds of me making it out?" I ask.

He shakes me again. "Don't think like that! You'll make it, you're a strong girl!"

I don't try to argue. Yes, there is a slight chance that I could win, but if it comes down to me and a Career, there's no question on who's body will be transported home. I can only hope I'll still be recognizable when they open my box.

Damien pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into the palm of my hand. When I try to look at it, Damien covers my hand with his own. He's not looking at me, but I can see the subtle shake of his head, warning me not to open my palm. I have just enough time to slide it into my pocket before I'm back in his embrace.

"It's for your token," he murmurs quietly.

My token? He wants to be so secretive about something I'm allowed to wear into the Games? I'm beyond confused, but Peacekeepers burst through the door before I can question him. His time is up.

With one last smile directed at me, he's gone.

Next to come is Katniss and Prim. Prim's eyes are red, probably from the fact that both she and her sister were almost lost to the Capitol.  
Katniss doesn't seem to know where to look. There's an unreadable expression on her face, and she keeps swallowing.

None of us say anything for a while. We just stand, Prim staring at me, both Katniss and I looking everywhere but towards each other. "Thank you," Katniss finally whispers, and I nod.

This seems to break the dam once more for Prim. "No, you can't go, you just can't!" she screeches, then gathers me into a hug with a vice grip. To say I'm startled would be an understatement. I've barely known her, barely talked to her, and yet she seems to devastated that I sacrificed my life for theirs. I never knew I meant so much to her.

Katniss finally looks at us, and her gray eyes are filled with so many things I can't even begin to explain. It takes me by surprise as well, for I've never really considered her as a friend and yet, she has the same fear in her eyes, albeit less, that's in her sister's.

I never knew I actually had friends.

My arms wrap gingerly around Prim. I don't speak, I don't know what to say. "You can win, you're strong," she whimpers.

First Damien, now Prim, everyone seems to think I can win except me.

She's staring up at me now, blue eyes wide and watery. "Please, Lucy, at least try to win."

It's not the first time I've heard this nickname, but hearing Prim say it surprises me for a third time. I'm nodding, my throat too closed up to say any words. But I can't cry, I can't give anyone the satisfaction.

Katniss' hand is on my shoulder. I look up at her and she gives me a tiny smile. It's enough for me to calm down slightly, to really process how I'm going to do this. "Of course," I say to Prim. She looks so hopeful, so happy, so innocent, that it's hard to deny her request. "Of course I'll try to win."

Prim smiles brilliantly at me, and then the Peacekeepers are in. But I won't let them go without assuring myself of one thing.

My nails have dug into Katniss' arm so much that I know I've probably drew blood, but I can't think of that for the moment. "Please," I say, "watch out for him. Please, don't let him starve!" She must know who I'm talking about, because she gives me a firm nod. The Peacekeeper tugs harder, and I release her arm, they shove them through the door, and they're gone.

Nate will be safe, Katniss will make sure of it.

I don't have time to dwell on it, because my next guest enters the room. I'm not expecting him, and the baker, Peeta Mellark's father, seems to know it. He seems uncomfortable himself as he sits next to me on the velvety couch. We don't speak much either, until he pulls out a white paper bag and hands it to me. When I open it, the sweet smell of cookies fill the air. It's a delicacy that I don't often have.

"Thanks," I say, closing the bag. He nods. He doesn't seem very talkative, and I've never really known how to start a conversation, so we sink into an awkward silence until it's time for him to leave. He rises and, after a second of hesitation, claps me lightly on the shoulder. "I'll watch after him."

I can't say how much this relieves me, to have not only one, but two people willing to look after my brother while I'm gone. To thank him once more, I give him a wide smile, and he seems to understand. Then he's gone, too.

The time for visiting has expired. Peeta and I are shoved into a car and make our way to the train station towards the end of town. It's a weird experience, being in a car. The only way I've ever traveled is by foot, and to not be doing that now just feels completely strange.

Cameras go off the instant I step out of the car. The reporters' aim is to catch you off guard, catch even the tiniest picture that could ruin you in the Games, but thanks to the few minutes it took to drive here, I've managed to arrange my features into a look of pure disinterest.

Peeta however, is a different story. His face, red and swollen with old tears on his cheeks, remains the same, as if he doesn't even care what the entire population of Panem sees. If he keeps it up, he'll be the laughing stock of the Games.

We are forced to wait, forced to let them take pictures of us even though the only thing I want to do is disappear inside the train for the rest of my life.

An angry shout of protest emerges from a reporter to my right. My head snaps in his direction, only to be met with the grey eyes I know so well.

In that small amount of time that we've been standing for photographs, my brother has managed to catch up to us.

He surges forward, wraps his thin arms around my waist, and holds on for dear life. He's crying, and the sight of it alone is enough to bring tears to my own eyes. "You promised," he says, face buried deep within my neck.

Peacekeepers are pulling at him, trying to pry him away. The time for visiting is gone, long gone, and he's not supposed to be here. Fear laces through me, straight to my bones, and suddenly I'm hugging him as tightly as he is me. "I'm sorry," I repeat, over and over, but I know it's not enough. It'll never be enough.

The Peacekeepers get restless. Their shoves and pulls get more forceful, and I know that Nate will pay if I don't let go soon. I place one last kiss on the top of his head, murmur, "I love you," and gently pry his arms off. He knows what I'm doing, even if he doesn't like it.

"I love you too," he responds, and places one last kiss on my cheek before willingly going with the Peacekeepers.

I am herded in the direction of the train, but I keep my eyes on Nate for as long as possible. I'm finally forced to turn around, face the right way, so that I don't run into any of the reporters.

Just as I step inside the train's doors I look back, see the back of Nate's head as Peacekeepers lead him back to town, and a single tear falls onto my wrist. Then the train's doors are closed.

**...**

**Okay, so, I just wanted to point out one thing before I continue on with this story. It will follow the story/plotline of _The Hunger Games_, but not everything will be the same. For instance, Lucy will not be the "Girl on Fire" or anything related to fire. I just feel that it's too closely related to the actual book, plus the whole "Girl on Fire" thing is a part of Katniss. To have Lucy as that just feels like I'd be stealing it.. **

**Anyways, thanks for reading! And thanks to all of you that's favorited, followed, and reviewed both me and the story! (Well, reviewed the story, aha) **


	4. Chapter 4

Too fake. Everything in front of me is too fake. The desserts, the assorted appetizers and soups, the variety of drinks, all of it. It's too extravagant, too unreal to actually be edible. I'm considering going back to my room, but at the look Effie gives me, I'm suddenly scooping out servings of mashed potatoes and ladling out a thick green liquid into my bowl.

Peeta is beside me, looking at the food just as nervously as I am. I decide to spare him Effie's glare, which is actually quite intimidating for some unexplainable reason, and nudge him subtly under the table with my knee. He looks down at me and meets my gaze before I flick it towards the feast, even throwing in a small smile. He nods, then he's scarfing down the food alongside me.

I decide that maybe the food isn't as fake as it seems, and eagerly go back for seconds. Effie grins. "Hang on, pace yourself! If you think that's good, there's more to come!"

"It's hard to," Peeta voices for the both of us. "It's all just so good!"

Effie's smile widens. "Well, at least you two have table manners," she says, and I'm intrigued to what she'll say next. "Those two from last year barely let the food get on the table before they were stuffing their faces like animals!"

I frown. I remember last year's tributes, two teens that looked as if they hadn't ate in years. It's not their fault that they were hungry, I'm sure I look probably the same way they did. The comment angers me so much that I forcibly throw down my spoon, the soup held on it splattering across the table. I stand, lean across the table, and pull off a leg of groosling with my bare hands. When I sit down, I lean the chair back and prop up my bare feet onto the table. Effie's intense glare doesn't effect me this time.

"Finally," a new voice says, and the swaying form of Haymitch Abernathy fills the compartment door. It's obvious he's still drunk, and yet, a bottle of whiskey is clutched tightly in his left palm. He staggers to the open seat beside Effie, who looks as if she'd rather be anywhere but beside him, and flops down into it. His chair is then tipped back like mine, and he says, "I've wanted to do this for-" he leans back too far, and the chair topples over. The bottle of whiskey shatters and drenches him, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Years."

Peeta doesn't attempt to stifle his laughter, which only intensifies at Effie's look of utter disgust. I can't help but smile at it. Haymitch is still on the floor, now curled up and seemingly unconscious. I can't help it now, and I choke out a quick laugh.

Effie snarls at Peeta and I before leaving the room, growling, "Come on, you two! It's time for the reaping recaps!"

I know not to frustrate Effie anymore, and stand instantly. Peeta follows my lead, and together we head into the compartment Effie disappeared to. It's strange for me to watch the recaps, for I usually try to steer clear of them. I don't like seeing where each tribute comes from or their reactions to being reaped before they die. This year, however, I'm forced to.

Even now, the reapings are a blur. I can only recall a few. The pair from District 2, who both lunge at the opportunity to volunteer. The boy is massive, while the girl stands smaller, yet still bigger than I am in both height and weight. A girl from District 5 with red hair. A young girl from District 9 that looks terrified at the sound of her name being called. Most of all, a girl no older than twelve from District 11. She's so small, yet the look she gives out at the people from her District she looks older than what she is. What disturbs me the most is that when her escort calls for volunteers, it's silent. No one will volunteer to save her life. That in itself is one of the most sickening things I've ever heard.

And finally it's District 12's turn. Effie looks just as ridiculous on screen, and I can't help but laugh a bit, but it's short lived. Prim's name is called, and Katniss runs for her sister. The scene is so emotional that I know more than a few Capitol people will be in tears. Then I'm stepping forward, and the commentators don't know what to say. They only seem more baffled at the crowd's strange antics, and then they show my brother among a small group of boys. Whether it's intentional or not, I'm still stunned into silence. Nate looks so small, so frail, and in the moment they show him he's pale with shock and I can see the tears threatening to fall. But yet, he knows not to let the Capitol see they've broke him down, and in that moment, he's as brave as he could be, holding up the three-finger salute along with everyone else. I blink slowly and when I open my eyes, Nate's gone.

Then Haymitch is up on stage, but falls off as quickly as he came. I'm a bit shocked that I didn't notice this on reaping day, but I guess I was too far into my own thoughts to notice the tiny detail. The commentators are laughing at Haymitch, but then Peeta's name is drawn, and their attention goes to him. The mayor speaks, we shake hands (you can just barely see Peeta's thumb rub across my hand, but it is a minuscule detail that no one will pay attention to), the anthem blares quickly, and then the recaps shut off.

When I turn back to Effie, she looks just as mad as before. "Your mentor, Haymitch, is it? He has some things to learn about manners himself, now doesn't he?"

The fact that even though she's been with Haymitch for who knows how long on each trip to the Hunger Games and never had the courtesy to learn his name makes me livid. Sure, he's a drunk, but there are far worse people than him. Chances are, he only became a drunk after his Games, after all, no one truly comes out alive.

I'm standing, now to furious to be in the same room with this woman. I've probably made a bad first impression but at the moment, I could care less. I glare at Effie, who simply looks up at me in shock, her eyes far too wide to be normal. Then I'm marching blindly away from the compartment, not caring whether I'm heading in the direction of my cabin or not.

The train is large, with many rooms in each hallway that one who doesn't know their way around could easily get lost in. That's the situation I'm in, walking aimlessly in hopes of finding something to pinpoint where I am. It's too late to head back to the compartment with the television; I've already made far too many turns to be able to find my way back. I don't want to anyway, I'll be forced into an apology I don't mean.

After a while, the anger dispersed, I'm genuinely confused. This part of the train is unfamiliar, and I've no idea where I am. I'm just about to head through another door on my left when a young man, not much older than I am by looks, appears.

For some reason, he looks extremely familiar to me. The short coal black hair, steely gray eyes bring up such a strange feeling, almost as if I'd seen him somewhere before.

It takes a few moments of us staring each other dead in the eyes for me to fully realize the boy I knew when I was younger.

He's aged, matured, since the last time I'd seen him, two years ago. He's taller for one, and his jawline is bolder. When I look more closely at him though, I can just barely spot the scar that goes from underneath his ear to the tip of his chin. All doubts fly out the window.

He seems to know I recognize him. Right as I open my mouth to say something, he gives a curt shake of his head, efficiently shutting me up. For a second I'm confused, but then I remember where we are. To acknowledge him would be the death of us both.

So instead I say, "I seem to be lost. Can you lead me back where Peeta and Effie are?" I almost ask him to lead me to my room, but I don't want to sit alone just yet, no matter if Effie's there or not.

He nods, and leads me through the door he just came from. We walk in silence for minutes until he finally stops in front of a crystal white door. The same one I disappeared through many minutes before. I open the door and am glad that only Peeta is there. Effie must have retired to her chambers by now.

Peeta spots me in the doorway and smiles a bit. I return it before facing the young man, who is now standing a few feet away, his arms behind his back. "Thank you," I say, and I can only hope he understands the meaning behind it, not just for helping me back here. His lips quirk up in a sad smile, and I know he does. Then he's gone.

When I turn back towards Peeta, he's staring at me with an eyebrow raised. "What was that all about?" he asks.

"Just an old friend," I whisper. Peeta doesn't believe me, I know it, but he doesn't question it, instead he turns back to a rerun of a Games. I'm not positive of the year. I'm grateful for it.

I know I should tell him, but I can't bring myself to. To tell him this one thing of my past would make me far more vulnerable to him than I need to be. But the fact that he didn't push me for the information like most would've is an act of kindness I'm not used to.

"Which one is this?" I ask.

"Three years ago, I think," he says, and I nod. There's an open space on the couch beside him, so I sit and watch the show with him even though watching people murder each other sickens me. "So," he says after a while of silence, "something gives me a feeling you don't exactly like Effie."

I close my eyes and laugh slightly. "No, not exactly," I respond, and Peeta laughs too. Then I open my eyes and look over at him. He's looking at me, and only then do I notice exactly how bright his eyes really are. They're beautiful, and I'm finding it hard to look away.

Peeta clears his throat and I snap out of it. What was about to happen there? I can't believe I let myself do something so girlish, so weak as to get lost in some boy's eyes that I only formally met today. Especially since we'll be attempting to kill each other in a few short days.

And why Peeta? Of all boys, why Peeta?

"Um, why don't we go see if Haymitch is gone by now?" Peeta asks, and I nod. I'm sure my face is red by now by the burning on my cheeks, and I can't look him in the eye again as we head into the dining compartment.

Haymitch is still there, lying in the pool of whiskey. No one has bothered to move him, instead leaving him where he is. He's unconscious, and I know that it'll take a lot to bring him out of it. The stench of alcohol is strong on him, but he won't have the energy nor motivation to wash it out. "We should take him to his room. I mean, no one else seems willing to."

Peeta nods, and we each take an arm. Haymitch's head lolls onto my shoulder as we lift him up, and it's hard to ignore my now damp shoulder and the smell rolling off him. Together, after a few agonizing minutes, Peeta and I manage to drag Haymitch back to his room and into the bathtub. We've turned the jets onto him full blast, but he remains unconscious.

I hesitate. To undress Haymitch and bathe him is horrifying for me to think of, and it's not something I want to do. Almost as if he senses this, Peeta says, "It's alright. Go, sleep."

I bite my lip, but eventually I nod and stand to leave. "If you want, I could call someone in here to help you?" I'm only trying to help make up for his act of kindness, but a Peeta seems to dislike the people from the Capitol as much as I do, and declines.

When I arrive back to my room, I stop at the sight of the bag of cookies from Peeta's father. It's crumpled a bit from where I was clutching at it so tightly, but the cookies inside remain unharmed. Even the intricate icing designs are still intact. It's when I have the first cookie at my lips that I remember that Peeta is the one who decorates them.

Peeta. The boy who willingly chose to bathe Haymitch, even though it's less than desirable. The boy that cried before we left for the Capitol. I'm wondering, trying to guess the reason behind his actions until I think, maybe there is no ulterior motive for them. Maybe he actually is just being kind.

But if that's the case, I know that I will have to distance myself from him. Kind people never work out with me, I always end up hurt when I mix with them. And in this situation, I can't afford the risk. So without a thought, I flush the cookies down the toilet. One down, who knows how many to go.

The outside world becomes my entertainment for a long time, even though the train is moving too fast for me to get a good look at whatever district we're passing. Night is long before me, the stars up high in the sky, twinkling brightly. I'm suddenly jealous of them. They don't have a care in the world, shining and glowing away while all of us down here on are masked with the world's problems. I wonder what it's like to be a star.

The thought of home suddenly appears, and of Nate. What's he doing? Is he looking up at the same sky I am, so clear and bright? Maybe he is, but chances are the smoke from the coal mines hide the stars from his sight. I hope he didn't watch the recaps, as I'm positive more tears would've been shed if he had.

I'm struck with a surge of fear so harsh, it nearly brings me to tears. What if Katniss doesn't hold up the promise, instead leaving him to fend for himself? He wouldn't last a day, he doesn't know the woods, the way of the Hob. I'd always considered him too young for me to teach him. The thought of that alone has me cursing myself for it.

Then again, maybe she will hold the deal. Maybe she will bring him game or plants, make sure he's safe. All I can do is hope she does, but it doesn't bring me much comfort. So I lay down, fully expecting for tears to come. I'd rather for them to come now anyways, no one will see me. But none do and after a while, I slip into blissful nothingness.

Impatient knocking is what wakes me in the morning. I must have locked the door to my room upon returning last night, for a frustrated Effie Trinket is pounding, squealing, "Up, dear, come on! It's a bug day!"

For her to call me 'dear' implies that she either forgot what I did, or is choosing to ignore them. Either way, I'm now stuck with a very peppy Effie.

I pick a pale orange shirt from the span of clothing along with dark pants and head to the bathroom to shower. I've never had a shower and this one having so many buttons isn't helping me any. When I finally come out I can distinctly smell several flower types, lemon, orange, and even a flavor I remember to be called vanilla on me, and my skin is red and raw. I take a mental note to have someone help me decipher the buttons later.

Before I leave, I take out the item Damien gave me during his last visit. It's a tiny, golden pin, with a bird that resembles a mockingjay carved into it. It's as if the bird is flying through a hoop, with its wing tips being the only thing holding it in place. The sight of it brings thoughts of home, so I quickly place it onto the bedside table.

Why wouldn't Damien want me to put it in the open? The little pin seems harmless, so what does revealing it do? Before I can mull on it any longer, Effie is back, shouting, "Dear, come on! We mustn't take all day!" She's gone when I emerge. But that pin is still stuck in my mind, so I go back to retrieve it and pin it on my shirt.

Effie isn't the only one in the dining car when I enter. Haymitch and Peeta are also there, almost halfway through their meal. "About time there, princess," Haymitch says. "Go on, sit."

The nickname shocks me, but I sit by Peeta anyways. Within a second, I'm faced with a plate full of various foods along with several different drinks. The only ones I recognize are milk and water.

"Try this," Peeta says, and pushes a dark brown liquid in front of my plate. "Effie said it's called hot chocolate."

I'm hooked from the first sip.

After a few minutes I feel like anything else I eat will just come directly back up. I scoot my chair back a little and look around at the others as I pick at an orange. Effie has disappeared again, and Peeta is still eating. Haymitch, unsurprisingly, hasn't ate much and has a drink in his hand. Without a doubt, he'll be long gone by the time we reach the Capitol.

Though he's supposed to be our mentor, he hasn't done much mentoring so far. "So," I say, "are you actually going to mentor us, or not? Cause I'd actually like to go home."

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. "You want advice? Here's a good piece. Stay alive," he says, then laughs as if he made the funniest joke in the world. I sneak a glance over at Peeta before remembering I'm supposed to be distancing myself from him. I'm thoroughly surprised to see him almost livid.

"Yeah, real funny," he says. In the blink of an eye, he's thrown an arm out and backhanded Haymitch. The glass of alcohol shatters against the wall and slowly oozes down towards the floor. "But not to us."

It doesn't take long for Haymitch to fight back. He pauses to think, but stands and punches Peeta directly underneath his jaw. Peeta is knocked out of his chair but within the instant he hits the ground Haymitch is there, grabbing Peeta by the collar of his shirt and dragging him up. He looks ready to kill, and just as he brings Peeta up to eye level, I react. The knife I had used to eat is in my hand, and I fling it towards Haymitch.

His words die away when the knife embeds itself in the wall just before his nose.

Instead of flinching like I know I should, I meet Haymitch's glare defiantly. He's debating on whether or not to hit me, but eventually decides against it. Instead he releases Peeta and sits down. "Well, seems like you're not a princess after all," he says to me. I don't respond. "Do I actually have fighters this year?"

Neither Peeta nor I reply, but Peeta begins to reach for the ice in front of him. Haymitch blocks it with his opposite hand. "Don't. The bruise will make you seem tough. Make 'em believe you were in a fight."

Peeta frowns. "But isn't that against the rules?"

Haymitch shrugs. "Only if you get caught." He turns to me. "Now that I know you've got okay aim, can you hit anything else with a knife?"

I pluck another knife from the table. In this moment, a moment where a know it's one of my only chances to impress my mentor, I go for something that probably seems over the top. I toss a small lime into the air, then fling the knife. They both imbed themselves into the far wall. I was simply planning to hit the thing, but for the knife to stick makes it all the better. If only I could show him what I do with the sword.

"Up, the both of you," says Haymitch, pointing to one of the walls without a knife stuck in it. Once we're in position, he circles us, examining us as if we're new meat in the Hob. "Not too bad. Room for improvement, but not bad."

Though there are many things I'd like to say, I don't respond, and neither does Peeta.

"Alright, you want help? Don't mess with my drinks, and I'll cut back enough to help you out," says Haymitch. "But no questions on what I say, just do it."

It's not the most appealing deal, but better than nothing.

"Alright," Peeta and I say together, and Haymitch nods.

"Before you start blabbing questions," Haymitch continues as I open my mouth, "last through the stylists. Whatever they say goes. It will not be pleasant, so the first thing you're going to want to do is ignore my warning, but don't. Do as they say, and don't resist."

"What-" I start.

Haymitch raises a hand, and I fall silent. "No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Do as they say." And after snatching one last bottle of alcohol, he disappears.

"Quite a mentor, huh?" says Peeta, after he's gone. I give a small smile, then the lights go out. It's too dark to move, so I stand as still as I can in the dim lights. We must be going through one of the Capitol's man-made tunnels leading into the city itself. Being trapped in the dark bothers me, but there is nothing I can do but wait until we are out of the barriers.

I don't know what to expect when the Capitol finally comes in to sight, but all I can think of is how the cameras don't do it justice. The sheer beauty of it is unexplainable.

I can't quite say the same about the people, however. They're impossible to miss, with their wild sense of fashion and colorful skin hues. It's obvious that these people don't have to worry about starving and for a split second, I'm jealous. These people get everything they want while the rest of Panem, save two or three Districts, have to worry over everything. Not to mention the fact that they aren't put through the horror that is the Hunger Games.

Peeta is waving to the overexcited citizens just as enthusiastically as they are to us. "Who knows?" he says, and laughs. "Maybe it'll get us a few rich sponsors."

This surprises me. Peeta, the nice boy who seems as if he couldn't hurt a fly, is playing the crowd like a pro. It's only now that I realize that Peeta isn't who he seems. He's got a plan, a plan that will make us all fools.

The sad thing is, I've partially fallen for it.

**...**

**Alright, I know I haven't updated for a while. Sorry about that... **

**To all that's favorited/followed/reviewed, thank you! **

**I had originally planned to post this _before_ New Years, but that didn't exactly go as planned.. Anyways, Happy New Year! **


	5. Chapter 5

When we finally get through the crowd and into the building where we'll get tampered with by our prep teams, Haymitch stops us. "Remember," he says. "Don't-"

"Resist, we know," I say, and Haymitch nods.

"Right. Now, get in there."

Peeta and I head different ways, me through the door before me and Peeta down the adjacent hall. The instant I walk through the door, I'm met with three people undeniably Capitol bred.

The first woman, who introduces herself as Venia, is hard to ignore with her aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows. There's a second woman, called Octavia, who is already eyeing me, itching to get to work. She's a bit on the plump side and has her entire body dyed a shade of green that reminds me of vomit for a brief moment. And then there's Flavius, the only man in the room, with tight orange curls and covered in purple makeup.

"Hello," is all I manage to say before I'm whisked off to get plucked and prodded at for who knows how long.

"Well, dear," Venia says as I'm pushed into a tub to bathe in a weird smelling liquid. She and Octavia begin scrubbing me down while Flavius sets to work on my nails. "The good news is, you're a pretty little thing. But, oh the things we could do with you if only Cinna would let us!"

What is that supposed to mean? Was she seriously hoping that they would get to make me look like other Capitol people? If this Cinna had let them, what would they do? Dye my skin? Tattoo my face and lengthen my eyebrows? Turn me into a feline? I don't care if I die without help from Haymitch, there is no way I'd willingly do that.

The first hour and a half is focused on bathing me free of any grime. When I'm finally allowed to get out, my skin has pruned, turned red, and I feel raw. I can't recall a time I've ever felt so exposed and treated.

I'm forced down onto a table where every single body hair will be torn from their roots. It's a painful process, and by the time they've just started on my legs, I'm ready to slap them senseless.

Another strip is ripped from my legs. I grit my teeth and latch on to the first thing I come into contact with, which happens to be Venia's wrist. My eyes fly open and I try to apologize, but she just waves me off. "It's alright," she says softly. "I know it's not too fun to go through this." Then she's back to ripping out my hairs.

Her words are on my brain until they finally finish. I can't help but think of the possible double meaning to them, but Flavius tears me from the thought by saying, "You know, you're one of the better ones we've been with. Most of them are whiners, but you're not. You're doing great," he turns to the women on the other side of the room. "Grease her!"

A burning lotion is rubbed into my skin, but the pain quickly turns to sooth my raw body. Just as I'm finally starting to relax for the first time in over four hours, they drag me from the table and tear away the robe they'd given me. I'm naked now, and they're circling me, completely focused on ridding every last strand of boys hair I own. I can't help but feel a little embarrassed, but when I try to shield myself from their eyes, Octavia slaps my arms away, giggling, "You silly girl, don't be embarrassed!"

I try to backtrack, to get rid of their ridiculing. "I'm sorry," I say, which brings their attention to me. "It's just- I've never really had anyone who wanted to help me look better back home. I've never really had a reason to, until now."

My words bring the desired effect. I've won them over entirely. "Oh, you poor darling!" Octavia cries. I smile shyly to add to it.

"Oh, I can't wait to see you when Cinna's done," says Venia, and I genuinely smile at her. "You'll be absolutely beautiful!"

"Let's get Cinna!" says Flavius, and they dart out of the room excitedly.

I smile to myself. Despite the fact that they wanted to make me appear just like every other Capitol citizen, my prep team is just too hard to dislike. They're just too ridiculous.

Though the first thing I want to do is cover myself up with the robe discarded on the floor at my side, I don't. I'll more than likely just be forced right out of it. I look down at my legs, still raw from all the stripping, and the hair attached to my head curtains around my face in loose waves. I'm just starting to walk around when a new person bursts through the door.

Rather than another Capitol bred like I was expecting, the man standing before me looks like any normal person. The only difference is the gold eyeliner over his eyelids that looks carefully applied. He doesn't appear to be altered from his natural looks, and I can't help but think that maybe this won't be so bad.

"Hello Luciana, I'm Cinna," he says quietly. He offers his hand for me to shake and I grasp it lightly, which makes him smile slightly.

"Hi," I say, my voice just as quiet as his.

He takes a step back. "Just one moment. Let me take a look at you." Then he circles me, just as my prep team did. But his eyes aren't scolding, no, his are observant, taking in all my features. I feel the urge to cover myself again. When he's done, he looks up into my eyes, and simply stares at them for a few moments. "The color of your eyes is beautiful," he says. "But it isn't very common in District Twelve, is it?"

The fact that he knows things about District Twelve surprises me. Typically no one in the Capitol knows anything about the Districts, not including One, Two, and Four. All they care about is getting their early entertainment from our children, not the places behind them.

"Not exactly," I say, and he nods. "Thank you, though." The next thought surges into my brain, and I blurt it out without thinking. "You're a new stylist, aren't you? I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." My cheeks heat up in a furious blush.

Cinna laughs. "Yes, this is my first year as a stylist."

"And they gave you District Twelve," I say.

"No, I actually asked for this District," he responds. This Cinna just happens to be full of surprises. "Get your robe, let's chat for a while."

Once the robe is secured, I follow him into a sitting room. There's a lunch waiting for us, trays full of chicken and beef and fruits that we'd never be able to afford at home. It seems as if they're making fun of how poor we are back home. Cinna waves me over to one of the couches and takes the one across from me. He's watching me carefully, and soon says, with a sad smile, "We must seem truly evil to you."

Guilt surges through me, for those just happened to be my exact thoughts.

"It's alright," he says. "So, Luciana, I'd like to talk to you about your costume for the opening ceremonies. Portia, my partner and Peeta's stylist, and I have decided to go for complementary costumes. To reflect District Twelve."

Oh, I hope he's not going for the stark naked look again.

"So, coal miners?" I ask warily.

He smiles. "Well.. Yes and no. You see, Portia and I are done with the stereotypical coal miner look. We thought we'd make you two look more.. Memorable, than the others have."

Great, I think. Panem, get ready to see us naked.

"Stylists in the past have focused solely on the mining part, and the coal. This time around, we're going to focus on the light on the mining hats." Where is he going with this, I think. "And what does that light do? It shines."

"Do you have weak eyes, Luciana?" My expression must be humorous, because he grins.

A few hours later, I'm finally ready for the tribute parade. I'm dressed in the standard coal miner's getup, though this one has a few alterations. It's pitch black, and clings to my body in all the right ways. I have a mining hat of my own, positioned to just barely cling to the back of my head. Combat boots lace up to my knees. The outfit already looks so much better than the costumes of the past, let alone the real coal miner's outfits back home, but the battery hidden in the small of my back makes the costume heavier than normal. The battery will bring the costume's light, which Cinna plans to use to make Peeta and I shine brighter than any of the tributes before us.

Cinna adjusts the headlamp so that it's a bit more on my head. "My only concern about the costume is your eyes. They should be fine as long as you don't look down at your costume." But I'm not entirely convinced I won't go blind.

Cinna has kept my makeup minimal, with only a few highlights and some dark eyeliner. He somehow has made my cheeks fuller, made me look as if I'm not undernourished like I actually am and when I look in the mirror, I see the eyeliner has accentuated the gold flecks in my hazel orbs. Cinna comes around and fixes the braid - he calls it a fishtail - to lay over my shoulder. "Everyone will know who you are," he says almost dreamily. "Luciana Farrington, our little beacon of light."

Though I now suspect Cinna to be truly insane, I say, "Lucy."

"I'm sorry?" Cinna asks.

I give him a shy smile. "You can call me Lucy, if you'd like."

Cinna grins brilliantly. Right at that moment, Portia and her team appear, with Peeta right behind them. Though I'm supposed to be ignoring him now, I smile widely at him, and he returns the favor. Seeing him in the same getup as me gives me comfort, knowing that I won't be alone. Also, if I go blind chances are, he will too.

By the time we're making our way to the bottom level of the Remake Center, Cinna is weary and annoyed from all the congratulations and praise. Most of this year's tributes are already there when we arrive at the stable, save maybe one or two Districts. We're lead to our chariot, where four horses as black as coal are ready to go. Cinna and Portia help us onto the chariot, as our costumes are nearly too heavy to get up on our own. Our bodies are specifically positioned,as are our costumes. Then they step away and leave Peeta and I to ourselves.

"Are you ready for this?" I ask Peeta quietly. "Cause for some reason, I'm scared to death."

He glances over to me quickly. "I'll cover your eyes if you cover mine," he says in a tone matching mine.

I laugh softly. "Gladly," I say, and jokingly move my hand up to cover his eyes, which makes him laugh. When I pull my hand back, I say, "We may have promised Haymitch, but I'm not sure he meant this. I'm almost ready to rip off this costume and run."

Peeta laughs, but it dies away quickly and he looks around the stable. "Where is Haymitch, anyways?"

I wave a hand. "He's probably too drunk to come," I say. "Besides, trained or not, it's probably not a good idea for Haymitch to be around the horses."

And even though it wasn't that funny, Peeta and I burst into hysterical laughter. We probably look insane, but in this moment, I don't care.

Then the opening music starts, and it's time for the parade. District One's chariot pulls away once the massive doors are opened, closely followed by Two's. The people are already going berserk. I'm thinking that just maybe Cinna has forgotten the light when District Eleven rolls out, but seconds later, he appears, holding a small black switch. He passes it up to me and says, "Lucy, this is the switch to turn on the costumes. Flip it when you're ready." Right as the horses begin to move, he shouts, "Heads up! Smile big! They'll love you, I know it!"

Peeta grabs my hand and holds on tight. I look over at him, shock evident, and he says, "They'll love it. Plus, I don't think I can keep still." And there's a ring of truth in his words, so I relax and return the grip. Then we're exposed to the city.

We're overlooked without a second glance, despite our smiles and waves. It seems that their main focus is One, who's dressed in silver suits lined with jewels. I'm tempted to turn on the costumes then and there, but something holds me back.

Five minutes later, I know it's time. The crowd is getting bored, their cheers still there, but not as gleeful. Something needs to liven them up again. I give Peeta's hand a squeeze to tell him, then my thumb eases the switch over.

The batteries react instantly, starting at the headlamp. The light grows from there, snaking down our bodies by the hidden lights in the clothes, until we're covered in a soft glow. The attention goes to us, but the costumes don't stop there. The glow brightens and strengthens until we're positively brilliant. Yet, I'm quick to notice that I can still see perfectly fine. The crowd goes insane.

"District Twelve!" Is the only thing I can hear for miles. My smile widens and I wave to my side of citizens. When I look up to the citizens towards the top, I freeze at the sight of Peeta and I on a jumbo screen. The sky has already darkened, which makes the headlamp's light bring out our features. It casts a glow over our bodies, which somehow aren't covered by light like I had expected. It's like we're holograms, in a way, and the effect is obvious. The way Peeta and I are positioned helps compliment our faces, cast in a soft hue of light. The minimal makeup makes us look absolutely amazing.

As the costumes flare up, so do the crowd's screams. Soon enough, they're almost deafening, the shouts of our names. "Luciana! Peeta!" Everyone's begging for our attention. I shove the switch into the pocket of my costume (there was only one- I guess Cinna made it specifically for the remote) so that I could wave more freely. I even blow some kisses, which causes the screams to increase.

By now, adrenaline is coursing through my veins. This costume, such a beautiful costume it is, it's given me such an advantage! I'm unforgettable. Luciana Farrington. The beacon of light.

A pure white daisy lands on the edge of the chariot. I pluck it up delicately, sniff it, and send a broad smile in the direction of where it came from. I spot a young man that literally faints after it. "Luciana! Luciana!" Though my name is a mouthful, it's all they're screaming.

As we finally roll to a stop in the Center Circle, I look up at Peeta. I'm knocked breathless at how stunning he looks, and I feel the blush rise up to my cheeks. What am I doing! I cough and look away, trying to pull my hand from his grasp. But Peeta holds tight. "I wasn't joking. I might literally fall off. Please, don't let go." I can spot a pinpoint of light in his blue irises from my costume. I nod, but I don't grip as tightly as I had before, noticing a small tingle where my hand touches his. I'm tempted to wrench my hand from his grasp, but I don't, keeping my promise.

Around us the music stops, and I can just barely spot the president high up on his podium. I can't help but notice he's small for his age, perhaps only a tiny bit taller than me. His hair is as pure a white as my daisy, which is still clutched lightly in my left hand.

Though I know they're trying their best to get each of the tributes their share of TV footage, Peeta and I are simply too stunning to stray away from for long. The president makes his speech, the anthem plays, and the camera follows each of the tributes as we make our way into the Training Center. Our new home for a few days.

We're nearly overwhelmed by stylists and prep teams the second the doors close behind us. Cinna and Portia helps us down from the chariot, and Cinna asks me for the switch. Our costumes take a few minutes to die away, and just like that, it's over. "Looks like we've got a few people jealous already," Peeta whispers in my ear. I look around and notice he's right. Nearly every tribute is sending icy glares our way, and I blush, which only deepens as I realize that I'm still latched to Peeta. I let go instantly and we massage our hands.

"Thanks," Peeta says. "I was getting shaky there for a minute."

"So was I," I say, and laugh nervously. "I don't think anyone noticed, though."

"Yeah, you're probably all they noticed," he says, but there isn't a trace of jealousy in his voice. "The light suits you." I can't help but blush again at the sweet yet shy smile he gives me, and the warmth doesn't stop at my cheeks.

It's when I start to smile back that a warning rings in my head. Stop, I think. Can you be anymore stupid? He's planning to kill you. Don't get lured into the nice guy facade.

I look away right as Portia envelops Peeta. I look around for something to keep me occupied, for Cinna chatting with the prep teams, and I spot a small girl by our horses. Her tight blonde curls fall around her full face, alight with wonder at the creatures in front of her. The horse seems just as mystified, sniffing gently at the small hand extended towards it.

"Pretty thing, isn't it?" I ask her when I approach. Her tiny head shoots up in surprise, but a wide grin spreads across her face when she realizes that I'm not going to hurt her.

"Yeah," she says. She has such a light voice that she can't be any older than eight. "I get to see them every year, my mom's a stylist, but this one's my favorite. I named him Ink." And the horse, Ink, seems to like her, too. Its eyes close as her hand softly pats its snout.

I smile at her and crouch down to her height. The daisy someone had thrown me is still in my hand, but I hold it out to her. She grins cutely. "I love daisies!" she squeals. "Can you put it in my hair?"

I nod. My fingers gently weave the stem through her hair, positioning it to where the flower is just above her ear. I look up just as an older woman approaches us. Her features are similar to the little girl's, but this woman has altered herself slightly. Her hair is dyed a cotton pink, and black intricate tattoos weave their way down the woman's neck. "Marina," she calls, and the little girl runs to her mother. The woman smiles kindly at me, which I return.

"Bye Luciana! Your costume was beautiful!" Marina cries as her mother leads her away. I smile and take note that Marina's mother was the stylist for Four's tributes. I'm not sure how she discovered my name, but I have a feeling her mother told her at some point.

I turn to see Peeta staring at me with a look on his face that I can't define. A small flutter disturbs my stomach, but we're whisked away before I can begin to decipher what his look means.


End file.
